


The Fearful Repast

by shellikybookie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, dub-con, oral sex with cannibalistic overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellikybookie/pseuds/shellikybookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fearful Repast

“What are we making?” Will asked. His session with Dr. Lecter had run late this evening, and afterward, the doctor had insisted that he stay for dinner. Will, who hadn't eaten all day, had agreed readily, but he’d found himself unexpectedly conscripted, and now he was standing in the middle of Hannibal’s intimidatingly orderly kitchen and wondering what to do with himself. It was the first time Will had ever been in this room. Everything about it was austerely elegant, not unlike the doctor himself, and Will was almost afraid to touch anything.

“Ris de veau aux morilles,” Dr. Lecter replied in answer to Will’s question, and when that was met with a blank look from Will, he expounded, “Veal sweetbreads with morels, sautéed, and served in a sauce of port and crème fraîche.”

That was a lot of French. “Uh… macaroni and cheese is about my speed,” Will said uncertainly, but the doctor responded with a forbearing smile. “Nonsense. Anyone can cook. All it takes is patience and attention to detail, and that I know you have.” And, with that pronouncement, he set Will to dicing shallots while he, with his jacket removed and his shirtsleeves neatly turned up to his elbows, began to prepare the pancreas.

Dr. Lecter was totally at home in this space, Will thought, watching him. He moved through it with the ease of complete familiarity, reaching blindly and unerringly for the things he needed. There was a certain grace to it, to the way the muscles in the doctor’s back and shoulders bunched and rolled under the smooth white cotton of his shirt as he worked.

It was a surprise when the knife Will was using turned in his hand, slipping on the skin of the shallot and slicing across the fleshy pads of Will’s first two fingers. “Ah, shit!” he hissed. Dr. Lecter turned to look at him, and Will felt immediately and inexplicably ashamed of having used such language in his presence. Will clamped his other hand around his cut fingers, and almost swore again when he noticed that he’d dropped blood onto the cutting board and onto the diced shallots.

“What happened?” Hannibal asked, and Will shook his head sharply, angry at himself for being so careless. “Nothing. I cut myself,” he answered tersely. He wasn't about to say that it was because he’d been watching the doctor instead of his work. “I ruined these.” He indicated the shallots with a jerk of his head.

“Oh?” Dr. Lecter cast a glance at the cutting board, saw the blood, but he said, “Ah. No harm done.”

“No harm?” Will repeated dubiously, thinking the doctor was being over-generous, but Hannibal said, “It is a particular conceit of humans that we consider ourselves unique among animals.” Wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, Hannibal removed his apron and came around the counter towards Will. “But our blood is just as red. Objectively speaking, our meat is no different. Nevertheless, when I said I wanted to have you for dinner, this was not exactly what I had in mind.” He held out his hand to Will. “Let me see.”

“It’s really nothing,” Will protested, but he offered his hand anyway.

Hannibal took Will’s hand in his, turning it to examine the fingers. They were bleeding sluggishly, but the cut was not deep. “It’s almost stopped by itself,” Hannibal observed, but he did not release Will’s hand. Instead, he raised the bloody fingers to his lips and took them into his mouth.

Will made a soft sound of surprise, but he didn't pull away, and Hannibal’s cool fingers circled his wrist like a shackle. Hannibal’s tongue slid slowly over the wounds, seeking the blood, and Will’s fingers twitched under that warm, wet pressure. The doctor’s eyes fluttered shut as though he were savouring something delectable, and the sight made something tighten low in Will’s belly.

Hannibal drew back slowly on Will’s fingers, and the soft ‘pop’ of released suction seemed impossibly loud in the charged silence. His lips remained pressed to Will’s fingertips a moment longer in a gesture that was not quite a kiss. His eyes met Will’s, and Will felt a shudder go through him.

_Don’t look at me. Not now. Not like that._

“Will…” Hannibal’s soft voice was like a silken snare. “Look at me.” He took a step closer, into Will’s body. Will felt the doctor’s leg press between his and knew he could feel the hardness there, and he shivered with shame and involuntary arousal.

Hannibal’s head cocked slightly to the side in an attitude of interest and Will saw the quick flicker of his tongue as it traced the contour of his lower lip.

_Please, don't say anything._

To speak now would be to break the strange spell that stilled Will’s tongue and kept him rooted to the floor, pinned in place by Hannibal’s unwavering gaze like a bird mesmerized by a serpent, unable to look away to save itself. _The eyes_ , Will had told him once, _The eyes see too much_. Hannibal’s were the colour of rich burgundy, or old dried blood, and burned with a hunger that Will could not name. Will closed his eyes, unable to bear the intensity of that gaze.

It was a silent license.

Will felt Hannibal’s hands at his waist, boldly possessive. He heard the whisper of silk as the doctor went to his knees in his fine suit, and a moment later, the metallic shiver of a zipper parting.

 _Oh God, oh God_.

Hannibal’s hot breath washing over him, the ache of anticipation, and then - then the soft press of the doctor’s lips, mouthing him through the thin cotton of his boxers. Hannibal’s fingers, cool in contrast to the searing heat of his mouth, slipped beneath his waistband. Hannibal moved the cloth aside, and Will’s eyes remained shut tight, his jaw clenched as though he was expecting pain, but still, he said nothing. He bit his lip until he tasted blood - the same blood that was on Hannibal’s lips - he realised with a shock. The taste of him in Hannibal’s mouth. And, as though by some arcane power the doctor had heard his thoughts, at that moment, Hannibal took Will’s cock into his mouth as readily as he had taken his bloody fingers. Will gave a choked gasp, and his hips jerked involuntarily against the firm restraint of the doctor’s hands. Hannibal stilled him, his fingers digging into Will’s hips with bruising force. In this, as in everything, he was utterly controlled, utterly controlling. He took Will in as far as he would go, before pulling back with deliberate, agonizing slowness to suckle at the head, lapping at the beaded precome like it was the juice of some luscious fruit. It was almost worse to imagine Dr. Lecter like that - on his knees, his sleek tawny head bobbing slowly between Will’s trembling thighs as Will’s hard, slick cock slid in and out of that eloquent mouth - worse to hear the obscene wet sounds and to feel the vibration of Hannibal’s soft, appreciative moans, than it would have been to simply look.

Will’s imagination had always been too good.

Almost against his will, he opened his eyes to find the doctor looking up at him with glittering, heavy-lidded eyes - and, oh, he was wrong. It was worse, far worse to see the naked, predatory hunger there. Will imagined in that moment Hannibal’s too-red mouth devouring him in truth, and the repulsive image was accompanied by a stab of raw lust that frightened Will with its intensity and made him scrabble for the cold, hard edge of the travertine counter for purchase as his knees went weak. He felt as though he was under assault. The urge to thrust was overwhelming, but Hannibal would not allow it, and even like this - even in the midst of this sordid scene, sucking Will off in the middle of his kitchen - there was something utterly untouchable about him that made Will instead grip the counter, white-knuckled, rather than dare to mould his fingers to the elegant curve of Hannibal’s skull or interfere in any way with the slow, steady motion of his head. He knew, without needing to ask, that Hannibal would not tolerate that. Why he was doing this at all, Will couldn't begin to fathom, but he didn't doubt for a moment that, despite their respective positions, it was happening entirely on Hannibal’s terms.

“ _Please_ …” The plea was so small and breathless that Will could not have been sure that he had spoken aloud at all were it not for Hannibal’s answering moan - low and drawn out, and full of pure, avaricious satisfaction. Will felt it wash over him like a hot wave, throbbing in his bones. “I’m - I’m going to…”

It was all the warning Will could manage, and Hannibal did not relent. His hand closed around Will’s cock and stroked roughly, his mouth open and waiting, as though about to receive a libation. The sight alone was enough to finish him, and Will gave a deep groan as the first white drops spattered onto Hannibal’s pink tongue, and then Hannibal’s glistening lips closed around him again, and he sucked until Will had nothing left to give.

It was long moments before Will could slow his racing heart and control his ragged breathing, and in that time, Hannibal composed himself, rising to his feet again and dabbing at his mouth with his linen handkerchief in a gesture that seemed strangely fastidious in light of what he had just done. Will felt a mess in comparison. Hannibal was neither flushed nor breathing hard. He had not a hair out of place. The only indication that he had been at all affected by the proceedings was the unmistakable line of an erection pressing against the front of his pleated trousers. Hannibal stepped in close again, and Will felt his mouth go dry. He struggled to frame the words, _D-d’you want me to_ -, not knowing if he could bring himself to actually speak them, but Hannibal only tucked him back into his boxers and closed his fly with almost clinical care and efficiency.

Will watched in a mute daze as Hannibal went to the cabinet and poured himself a glass of red wine. _To kill the taste of me_ , Will realised with a jolt, and: _I came in Dr. Lecter’s mouth_.

Still, the doctor said nothing, and Will was torn between wishing that he would, and thanking every god that he wasn't. He wondered how he was ever going to be able speak to Dr. Lecter again, how he could possibly pretend that nothing had happened between them.

But Hannibal set down his glass, and his eyes met Will’s unflinchingly. “Shall we eat?” he said, and, after a moment, Will nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rusty but gaining force, and he was surprised at how easily the response came.

He found he could pretend, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> (Sort of) fill for this prompt on the hannibalkink meme:
> 
> _Will cuts his finger (paper cut or a slip of a knife while trying to cook?) and of course he sticks it into his mouth to suck the blood off. Poor Hannibal, who's been trying very hard not to scare him and to seduce him slowly, can't take it and ends up fucking Will._
> 
> _Bonus: Hannibal taking the finger out of Will's mouth and into his own._
> 
> The quotation in the summary comes from Georges Bataille.
> 
> The title is lifted from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym":
> 
> "I must not dwell upon the fearful repast which immediately ensued. Such things may be imagined, but words have no power to impress the mind with the exquisite horror of their reality."


End file.
